


Stealing Moments

by JudeAraya



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Post-Mockingjay, Pre-Epilogue, growing back together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5542688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JudeAraya/pseuds/JudeAraya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Some nights she sits on the floor in front of the fire and laughs at him as he insists he must learn to braid her hair. It’s grown back, full and thick, if not as long as it once was.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i> 'You and my hair,' she says, low voice laughter laced. Peeta resists the urge to lean forward, to bury his face in her neck where he knows redolence of her scent lingers."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stealing Moments

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favorite moments in the books was Katniss and Peeta's picnic on the roof before the Quell; I've been itching to write something pre-epilogue where Peeta tries to braid Katniss's hair. 
> 
> After 4 years of writing for another fandom, I did not think I'd ever be able to write in a new one, even though I've been wanting to write for HG for a long time. So many thanks to JavisTG for encouraging, beta'ing and welcoming me, as well as Hazelandglasz for encouraging and beta work. Any mistakes are mine.

The first time he comes to her at night she’s dreaming of unspeakable things. It takes a while for him to gentle her with his touch. Once she’s settled, the sound of his heart so known under her cheek, he laughs and pushes her hair off of her face and from his.

“Tickles,” he whispers, then stills. All of his muscles go rigid, and although her instinct should be to pull back, she holds very still instead. He takes a lock of hair between his fingers and rubs it softly. 

“We had a picnic on the roof of the training center,” he says softly. “I played with your hair and you made a crown of flowers. Real or not real?”

Katniss stills as well; she told him once that of all of their memories, these, the truest ones between them, sting the most to think about. Perhaps it’s the remembrance, them coming back to him, that hurt the most. Because Katniss doesn’t trust hope yet.

“Yes,” she says. Her voice is scratchy from screaming. “We played the game with the apple and the force field.”

“I remember now,” he whispers. His fingers run through her hair gently and he sighs out the tension in his muscles. He’s still playing with her hair when she drops heavily into sleep.

~*~

He comes to her with bread one morning; they eat meals together often now as she prepares to go to the woods and he back to baking or painting. This morning he finds Greasy Sae and a cold fireplace. 

“She’s having a bad morning,” Sae says. She shakes her head and lets herself out, as if that’s enough of an answer. He stands in the kitchen for a bit, wondering what to do. Katniss is unpredictable in her responses to comfort, unless it’s at night when the nightmares come for them.

In the end, he slices and toasts some bread and carries it up to her. Stale air wafts out of her room when he nudges it open.

“Katniss?”

She doesn’t respond. She’s curled on top of the sheets, eyes open and unseeing. Peeta places the bread on the table next to the bed and kneels to look her in the eyes. She focuses on him for a flicker of a moment, then closes her eyes.

“I brought you bread,” he whispers. Something trembles through her body and when her eyes open, they’re sheened with tears. Leaning into her space, kissing her softly, is some sort of instinct. Unplanned and shocking to them both. It’s the first time he’s initiated a kiss since that night in the arena. It paralyzes them for a long moment.

“I should shower,” Katniss says. Her movements are careful. Peeta stays on the floor, fighting against himself. “Unless you need me?” She’s uncharacteristically soft. He shakes his head.

It takes a long time to put himself together while she’s gone. Once it seems to have passed, wrecking through him, he goes downstairs and busies his hands with mundane tasks. He builds her a fire. He makes her eggs and slices fresh fruit.

Katniss comes downstairs dressed, hair still dripping wet, with guarded eyes and unsure footsteps. He smiles and hopes she can see that it’s him. He hopes it is him. It’s so hard to tell after episodes to understand the edges of where Old Peeta lay.

Katniss eats quickly, as usual, and then looks up at him. It’s almost shy, and her eyes are still heavy with whatever sadness kept her in bed, but her words are soft. “Thank you Peeta.”

He shrugs. Her hair is waving, still wet. “Come sit by the fire,” he says. He coaxes her into the sitting room. She curls up on the floor, arms around updrawn legs, and stares unseeing at the flames. The energy that got her into the shower and down to eat seems to have leeched out of her completely. After a bit Peeta goes in search of a towel and then sits behind her. He dries her hair carefully, with tentative hands and an aching heart. He understands her sadness, because he’s felt it very deeply too.

It’s mostly dry when Katniss looks back at him. She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes hold more emotion than words could share. He drapes her hair over her shoulder and she tips her head back against his knee. They sit until the fire has burned to coals.

~*~ Haymitch is partially sober for once, and Katniss has roasted a lovely turkey for them. They laugh over dinner; it seems light and uncomplicated for once. Outside these doors is a town being rebuilt and people working hard at hoping for better. Inside is a made family kept together by what seems like miracles. Peeta doubts either Katniss or Haymitch believe in miracles -- he’s not sure he does either -- but there’s something to be said for managing to piece yourself back together when you’ve been utterly broken.

After dinner Haymitch excuses himself, claiming that needs to attend to his geese. Peeta knows he just wants more liquor, which they don’t keep in the house. No one has said as much, but it is Katniss and Peeta’s house now. They haven’t kissed since that one night, but at some point Peeta sleeping over became a habit. Eventually it just seemed so natural no one even had to question it.

They watch the television together; Plutarch’s latest show is on and although it’s horrible, it’s a mindless sort of horrible. Peeta is surprised sometimes that Katniss would watch this – not only because he worries that thinking about Plutarch will trigger her, but because it’s vapid and overblown and showy. But she shocks him, as she always seems to, and turns it on every time it’s on. She laughs and he bites his lip to hide the wide and happy smile. He could care less about the show but her happiness floods him with conflicted longing and love and shadows.

Peeta reaches over and tugs on a lock of hair; her bright eyes meet his and she scoots closer until she’s tucked up against him. He thinks he remembers her from before, shying from some touches. Not with him though. He wants to ask -- _you let me touch you, real or not real?_ \-- but knows there is no way to word it properly. He’s not sure it matters now though, because she’s warm and soft bodied against him. Her bones and skin and breath settle in the shape of trust between them. He toys with her hair and runs his fingers through it. She sighs. “That feels nice,” she says. 

“It’s not braided,” he says. It’s just struck him how often she wears it loose now. She stiffens; he’s hit a wrong chord somehow.

“My mother used to braid it sometimes,” Katniss says after a long beat. “I know it’s stupid to miss that because I usually did it. I did almost everything for myself. But...”

“It’s okay to miss her,” he offers softly.

“I wasn’t very nice to her, was I? And now I miss her.” She turns her face into his shoulder.

“That’s okay too,” Peeta says. He knows it’s not enough, but there aren’t words for the complexity of their loss and her grief.

~*~

She takes him to the lake on a particularly bright day. The clouds have sheered away, leaving an Easter blue sky behind. Katniss pulls him down to the ground beside her and they watch the water move. She points out the water fowl that fly in and out.

Katniss has brought his sketching pad; she hands it to him with a smile that he returns. Her hair moves with the breeze and he wants nothing more than to kiss her. He doesn’t. It’s easier to know her in the dark when they work to ward off each other’s nightmares. That’s comfort they are used to and comfortable with. Kissing her in a puddle of sunlight with the wide air around them would be different.

Instead Peeta sketches her. She sits still with a small smile and he knows she’s indulging him. They eat the picnic she brought and the day is so reminiscent of their picnic on the roof, only better. There is no threat looming in the morning. There are only uninterrupted days of peace waiting. He can keep this forever.

Over the hill clouds begin to gather. “Looks like rain coming in,” he says.

“I know,” she says. “Can we stay a little longer though?” And so Peeta knows she feels the same. The wind comes over the grasses and water and her hair whips around her face. He tucks it behind her ear and they laugh when it just comes back out. He packs his sketch pad away and kneels behind her.

“What are you doing?” she asks with a laugh.

“Helping.” He fiddles with her hair and tries to braid it. “I think I was better at making knots with it,” he says and laughs. She smiles up at him and everything falls away. Peeta can’t help but kiss her then. After, he knows that she kissed him back but then offered no other hints that would betray her true feelings on their way home. He doesn’t know what their kisses mean just yet. He tells himself that it’s enough, to steal moments like these and to tuck happiness away into his heart. Healing will take so long, but he’s willing to be patient with them both. He remembers now his own patience. That Old Peeta was rich with forgiveness and patience; not bad qualities to have.

~*~

From that day forward there’s a softness in her eyes that’s unmistakable. They both lean into that tenderness between them; it’s a held breath, a beat before a chasm is crossed. But they both wait. Peeta learns how he can and cannot touch her, how he can and cannot show her how he feels. In return, he is thankful for all of the small gestures Katniss offers only those who are closest to her heart.

Some nights she sits on the floor in front of the fire and laughs at him as he insists he must learn to braid her hair. It’s grown back, full and thick, if not as long as it once was.

“You and my hair,” she says, low voice laughter laced. Peeta resists the urge to lean forward, to bury his face in her neck where he knows redolence of her scent lingers.

“This is impossible,” is what he says.

“Split it into three and then weave them one on top of another,” she instructs.

“Now you tell me?” He cards his fingers through her hair. She shrugs and ducks her head.

“Maybe I just didn’t want you to stop,” she whispers. He lets that wash over him and so he begins to weave them – or tries – and doesn’t hide his smile.

“I won’t,” he promises.

~*~ That night she dreams; it must be awful, because her screams are heartbreaking.

“I’m here, it’s okay,” he promises over and over, cupping her face. He strokes a wide palmed touch down her shoulder to her hands. She shudders against him, shaking off the cobwebs of whatever she’d dreamt. He kisses her cheek and then the corner of her lips and exhales against her sweet skin. She barely has to move to reach his lips, and when they meet his he’s both surprised and not. Her kisses and increased touches are an inevitability he’s been waiting for on an unknowable timeline. Katniss turns into his arms fully and opens her lips to his.

“Is this—“

“It’s okay,” she says, soothing him now. They’re both shaking a little now because what’s coming up between them is almost too much, huge and unstoppable and _good_. He runs his fingers through her hair and she breathes against his lips. Her hands slip under his shirt and with her touch he’s carried somewhere else completely.

**Author's Note:**

> There will most likely be a second story that picks up where this left off, so stay tuned, or let me know if you want it! Those of you who know me from Glee fandom know that I do love to write some feelings-laden smut :D


End file.
